The interview, taped on the Happy Days soundstage during the show’s third production year, captures Henry Winkler between camera set‑ups as he reflects on sudden stardom and long‑range career plans. Having just been elevated to co‑star billing—“starring Ron Howard and Henry Winkler”—he explains that the promotion came with a substantial salary bump but did not disturb the ensemble atmosphere he values. Ron Howard remains a trusted friend and creative partner; most scenes between the two are completed in a single take because of their “simpatico.”

Winkler outlines the commitments that now define his schedule. His ABC contract runs five seasons, and while producers have offered multiple spin‑offs built around Fonzie, he declines: seven years in the same role would pigeonhole him. Feature films are the next goal; he has already met with Mike Nichols about replacing Robert De Niro in an upcoming project, though studio preference for a bigger box‑office name makes the outcome unlikely. Hiatus periods are reserved for such film opportunities, provided they fit around the series’ taping cycle.

The actor stresses a disciplined personal philosophy aimed at resisting Hollywood excess. He owns an Audi, a continually upgraded stereo, and a record collection, but no house, pool, or domestic staff. He insists on doing his own laundry to avoid feeling “more than I am” and keeps three tangible markers of security: money in two bank accounts, freshly cleaned clothes, and solid work. Stardom, he argues, can mask unresolved personal gaps; staying grounded is a conscious daily effort.

Winkler recounts his nine years of formal training—Emerson College, the Yale School of Drama, and repertory work in New Haven and Washington, D.C.—and notes that, though he never had to “starve,” he joined Happy Days only after honing technique on stage. Fonzie’s persona is partly informed by Sylvester Stallone’s performance in The Lords of Flatbush, but Winkler demanded the character be portrayed as a multidimensional human rather than a cartoon greaser.

Life off‑set is deliberately low‑key. He spends much of his free time alone listening to opera, classical music, and rock acts like Rod Stewart and Bad Company. He smokes about two packs of cigarettes a day, abstains from alcohol, and rarely gambles—claiming his profession is gamble enough. A brief Las Vegas visit ended with a $300 loss after early slot‑machine luck, reinforcing his disinterest in casinos.

Fan adulation is described as both energizing and surreal. On personal‑appearance tours he has faced stadium crowds chanting his name, college ball fields renamed “Fonzie Field,” and autograph lines that include pregnant women seeking a touch for good luck. The attention flatters his ego in the moment, but he tries to observe it with detachment and remind himself “it’s only me.”

Though unmarried, Winkler envisions eventual family life, believing in the “strength of a team,” but feels it would be unfair to claim a steady partner while his responsibilities remain solely to himself. He speaks candidly—sometimes graphically—about casual encounters on the road and acknowledges the need to temper such behavior before marriage.

The conversation turns to broader issues: urban decay in his native New York, admiration for actors like Pacino, Hackman, Finney, and Nicholson, and deep cynicism about American politics. He has never voted, doubts the effectiveness of current leaders, and advocates marijuana legalization while condemning underage substance abuse. The interview ends abruptly as production staff call him back to set, underscoring the constant interplay between his reflective observations and the practical demands of series television.